I like the Couch
by Phoenix-Flower92
Summary: LillyOliver fluffy oneshot. Oliver likes the couch, and so does Lilly. NO FLAMES THAT ARE BASED SOLELY ON MY PAIRING! IF YOU DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ, & DON'T FLAME!


**A/N: Melanie Mellows and Richard Yawnyoo are mine. Also, just a reminder--this is Lilly/ Oliver. I repeat, Lilly/Oliver. So if you don't like Lilly/Oliver, and you think that you will begin itching intensly to press the review button JUST so you can flame me for my pairing, please, click the back button instead. Remember, if you don't like, then don't read, and don't flame. It's not that I'm against flames in general--I mean, if you want to flame me to tell me that my writing is disasterous, and that I have no future in writing whatsoever, then go right ahead. But please, please, please, give my story a chance. Don't flame just because you read the summary and you didn't approve of the pairing. Thanks. That's all I ask.**

* * *

I smiled goofily to myself, my face suddenly heating up for some reason as I read the six words that only made sense to me. Almost like an inside joke. Except more than just that. 

The six-worded note sent me back to that morning, in which Science class took place. Lilly and I had been working (or rather, just Lilly) on our Racer Rocket. It was a rocket that pairs of two had to create, and at the end of the week there would be races, and the fastest rocket, most creative rocket, and rocket that went the farthest would be awarded prizes.

Knowing that Lilly was an excellent Science student, I sat back in my seat, pretended to be occupied, and allowed her to do the work. I mean, really—what was the harm? She knew how to do it alone, and I didn't want to do it—so my plan was a win-win situation, right?

Apparently, though, (as if it was really any of their business) Lilly's friends didn't approve of my plan. They thought that I should have helped her. Even though Lilly herself didn't mind.

"Oliver, Lilly is your_ partner_. Don't you know the meaning of _partner_? It means you need to help her too. It doesn't mean that she does all the work and you take all the credit!" Melanie Mellows huffed angrily.

I shrugged it off, and so did Lilly. She didn't really want a partner in the first place, but the teacher said that everybody was required to have one. We'd silently agreed that I could sit and watch her do the work. I say silently because we didn't really speak aloud about the matter. Lilly and I have been doing that more and more lately. Speaking with our eyes. It's almost freaky, really. I swear I can tell what she is saying, just from her eyes. Just from the expression on her face. Was it always like this between us?

I think things became awkward with us the moment that we had to take Health class. The class that we learn things that I ponder about if whether it should honestly be taught in a school environment—to teenagers that _already_ have hormones raging fiercely—rising and falling and rising and falling every moment of every second.

Anyways, I guess that Melanie, for whatever reason, got the impression that Lilly was mad at me, because next she said, "Oliver, one day you and Lilly are going to be married, and are going to be laying in bed, and you two are going to remember this project, and Lilly is going to send you to the couch."

This caught both Lilly and I off guard. Never in our wildest dreams could we have imagined such a comment. I nearly fell out of my seat. My heart thumped crazily as my mind buzzed around for something to say back. I couldn't just say 'gross! Lilly and I will never be married!' because, well…the idea wasn't exactly all that uninviting. It actually sounded…oh, never mind. You wouldn't understand.

In fact, there were many things that I did not want to say. I didn't want to say anything mean and I didn't want to say, yeah, that will absolutely happen. So casually (or as casually as I could manage at the moment), I responded with, "I like the couch."

It wasn't too much longer and before I knew it the bell had rang, and everyone was filing out of the classroom, and now here it is, nearly sixth period, and Richard Yawnyoo has only just delivered me a note. A small note, only a ripped piece of notebook paper, but a meaningless note it is not. I think I might save this one, I think I will frame it or glue it in my school book or laminate it or create a journal to put it into. But no matter if I do lose it, I don't think I will ever forget the six words it holds, or whom the note is from, or what led up to me receiving such a note.

I smile again, my face even warmer, and truly I have no idea why. I had no idea that I could blush like this. I had no idea that a note would spark such a reaction from me. I had no idea that I had feelings for Lilly. Never, not until just now.

I stare at the note again, then carefully I fold it and neatly slide it into my jean pocket. My stomach feels all gooey and my cheeks have been heated by an oven and I think that I just passed up my sixth period class because my head is in the clouds.

But that's okay. It may be sixth period P.E. that I hate, but it's okay. Everything's okay. More than okay. The smile on my face will not vanish for the rest of the day, and I'm seriously thinking about sneaking down to the couch tonight. I like the couch.

_I like the couch, too, Oliver._

* * *


End file.
